The Swordsman in First Class
# 1
Episode 1
The Martial Artist Who Came on First Class (1)
"Is there a doctor on board? Doctor!"
As a passenger began convulsing, the flight attendants sprang into action.
While they searched for a doctor, another attendant followed protocol for emergency care, but the man's condition didn't improve. If anything, his breathing grew more labored, his face turning ashen.
Then, the veteran attendant performing CPR suddenly thought of the first-class passenger.
'Ah! Maybe.'
She handed the patient off to her junior and rushed forward. Passing business class, she entered first class and hurried toward one man.
"I'm so sorry, but we have an emergency."
Jang Cheon, who had been gazing out the window, turned to the attendant. He removed his headphones, and she quickly asked,
"You're a Murim warrior, right?"
Sure enough, a single sword stood beside Jang Cheon's seat.
"Yes, I am."
Jang Cheon spoke in a soft, resonant voice.
"We have an emergency patient. Could you possibly help?"
"Let's talk on the way."
Jang Cheon rose readily. He was tall with a balanced physique and eyes brimming with intellect. He looked less like a Murim warrior and more like a young, handsome professor.
"Thank you so much."
The attendant followed behind, explaining the passenger's sudden seizure.
By the time they arrived, the man's state was dire. His face was pallid, he had lost consciousness, and his breathing was faint.
Jang Cheon calmly checked the man's pulse at his wrist, then swiftly pressed several acupoints.
Death had rushed in in an instant, but so did recovery.
"Huuuuaaa."
The man gasped for the breath he'd been holding, color returning to his face. The attendants—and the watching passengers—were stunned. It was so miraculous it almost seemed staged.
"I've only done first aid, so have a doctor waiting at the airport."
"Bravo!"
A foreign passenger's shout sparked applause from everyone.
Jang Cheon gave a light wave and bow, like an actor after a performance, then returned to his seat.
The relieved attendant addressed the passengers.
"As you saw, we have a Murim master on board. If anyone was thinking of hijacking, please give it up for today."
"Hahaha."
The passengers laughed good-naturedly at her joke.
The attendant returned to Jang Cheon's seat.
"Thank you so much."
"Good thing we weren't too late."
She looked at him anew. When he'd first boarded, he'd drawn every attendant's attention—because of the sword beside him.
As her gaze drifted to it, Jang Cheon smiled and asked,
"A bit flashy, huh?"
She'd seen Murim warriors on flights before.
But no one had ever bought two first-class seats just to stand their sword in the empty one. Especially not in this pricey cabin.
"I hear Murim warriors treasure their swords like their own lives."
"Not quite that much. Hmm, more like a friend."
"Can't just leave a friend on the floor."
The attendant examined the sword closely. The scabbard was scarred, the hilt worn. She couldn't smell the blood of years past, but she knew this was no ornamental blade—it was one that had cut real flesh.
"An old friend?"
"We've been together quite a while."
Trust shone in Jang Cheon's eyes as he regarded the sword.
"Never treated it this well before. Made it suffer a lot. Today, I wanted to bring it properly."
"Special day?"
"Heading home after a very long time."
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
At first, she'd thought he was showboating as a Murim warrior, flaunting his wealth pointlessly. She'd joked with colleagues: That money could've gone to me.
Her first impression hadn't been great. But after he saved the passenger and showed such grace, those thoughts vanished. She even felt sorry for having them.
"Thank you again for today."
Jang Cheon smiled and slipped his headphones back on.
As she turned to go, the attendant paused and asked,
"You've been listening since earlier—what music is it?"
"Not music. Martial arts manuals. I sometimes load them onto my MP3 player."
"Ah, I see. Rest well, then."
She flashed a bright smile and returned to her post. To her junior attendant, she said,
"I think I know why he took first class."
"Why?"
"So other passengers wouldn't feel uneasy or scared seeing that sword."
"Didn't you just say he was showing off his money?"
"My mistake."
"Falling for a sword-wielding guy this easily? Careful, sis."
"He's cool, though?"
The attendant peeked through the curtain. Jang Cheon stared out at the vast sky beyond the small window, as if nothing had happened.
* * *
Beep.
As Jang Cheon passed security with his sword at his waist, an alarm blared.
Onlookers in the adjacent line stared. Curiosity, admiration, fear—the typical emotions for ordinary folk facing a Murim warrior.
Not all Murim warriors could carry weapons through customs.
Permission from the Korean Murim Alliance allowed it domestically only; continental alliances covered their regions; the World Murim Alliance permitted it worldwide.
Jang Cheon held the rare World Murim Alliance permit.
Of course, weapon freedom didn't skip immigration checks. They scrutinized Murim warriors even more than civilians.
Jang Cheon handed his passport to the officer.
Unlike civilian passports, his bore a red Wu stamp in the center.
Scanning it confirmed no forgery; a green light flashed.
"Affiliation?"
"None."
"Freelancer."
The officer's small screen displayed Jang Cheon's info.
"First return in 14 years, last transit Blari Republic."
The officer eyed him sharply.
Just days ago, Blari had been in full civil war—a battlefield with thousands of casualties daily.
"What business there?"
"Trip for work, got stuck."
"Reason for entering Korea?"
"Business, as always."
The officer's gaze returned to the screen. Then, a number caught his eye.
He subtly pressed a button. Armed police poured from the back room.
The police chief conferred with the officer, then approached Jang Cheon.
"This way, please."
"Sure."
Jang Cheon complied without protest. Defying police as a Murim warrior meant harsher penalties—especially armed airport police.
Guns tracked him. Despite fingers on triggers, the police were tense.
Murim masters were untouchable by bullets. Reflexes and speed far beyond normal humans. There'd even been cases of one wiping out dozens of heavily armed troops in seconds.
"Issue with your ID. Registration date is 26 years ago."
"Yes?"
"But you're 34 now."
Jang Cheon looked no older than mid-twenties, but that wasn't the issue—it was too youthful to believe.
"Passed BST at eight?"
The BST (Blade Spirit Test) was the official exam to become a recognized Murim warrior. It brought duties and responsibilities, but also opportunities—many hired them, and Murim Alliance benefits were substantial.
Yet pass rates were abysmally low.
"That's right."
Used to this, Jang Cheon stayed calm.
The police chief looked incredulous. BST passage usually required at least twenty.
"Sorry, can't release you until Murim Alliance verifies."
Just as Jang Cheon looked mildly troubled—
"Hold on."
A slender beauty with short hair and fair skin approached.
Her lithe yet voluptuous figure, pure face radiating innocence, cynical edge in resolute eyes softened by a gentle smile—it made her not just pretty, but uniquely captivating.
Even the guns aimed from all sides became mere props enhancing her allure.
"Lee Yeon from HT Group HQ Security Team 3."
The police chief flinched at HT Group—Korea's top chaebol, with influence everywhere.
Scanning her ID softened his demeanor.
"What is it?"
"Let me check first."
Lee Yeon approached Jang Cheon.
"Mr. Jang Cheon?"
"That's me."
"Sorry I'm late—schedule delay."
"No problem."
"Got the invitation?"
"Here."
Jang Cheon handed it over. Her device scanned it—beep, blue light.
"Forgive the rudeness. We get fakes trying to crash sometimes."
She turned to the police.
"He's a VIP guest for our year-end party at HQ."
"Ah! Of course."
The chief looked at Jang Cheon with fresh respect. HT invites went to elite politicians, tycoons, celebrities—proof of status.
"We vouch for him. We'll handle any issues."
"Understood."
"May we go?"
"Certainly."
"Thanks for your work."
Lee Yeon led Jang Cheon out.
A massive luxury sedan waited curbside.
Jang Cheon took the back seat, propping his sword beside him like on the plane.
"We're off."
Her manner was polite. Company VIP and Murim warrior—handle with care. Rumors about them were rarely pleasant.
"This is a VIP armored car, designed to withstand rocket launchers and anti-tank mines."
Jang Cheon surprised her from the passenger seat.
"Do you ride there often?"
"Occasionally."
"Be careful, then. Flaw in the passenger-side bulletproof glass. Recent fix, but this one's not updated."
"How do you know?"
"Noise from the window. Classic early-model symptom."
"Noise?"
She listened. Nothing unusual.
"I don't hear it."
She tilted her head back at him. Jang Cheon smiled faintly.
"Tinting's the old stuff too."
"Ah!"
New glass meant new tint.
She couldn't tell herself, but thanked him with a smile anyway.
"Thanks for the heads-up."
"No trouble."
"Heard it's been ages since Korea."
"14 years."
"Wow, must feel fresh."
Indeed, a flicker of wistfulness crossed his eyes out the window.
Her phone rang—Team Leader Kwon Hyeok-su.
"Yes, Team Leader. On our way. Yes, yes. Don't worry."
She hung and said,
"Long flight must be tiring. Rest till we arrive—about an hour."
"Okay."
His gaze stayed outward. Lee Yeon glanced at his reflection. His stoic face gave no hint of his thoughts.
As she checked her phone for the next schedule, the smooth, powerful car sped toward the glittering skyline.